


like a shadow.

by LIGHTSJOON



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Detectives, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Ghosts, Grim Reapers, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Immortality, In Medias Res, Lies, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Souls, but is it???, dual perspective, inspired by fear, jihan-centric, joshua hong is a detective, listen I love joshua in this fic and you should too, love where the timing is off, not a first love but should have been a lasting love, yoon jeonghan is a hot grim reaper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LIGHTSJOON/pseuds/LIGHTSJOON
Summary: "Everything I felt—regret, guilt, pain, and fear—were all poison."[Alternatively: Yoon Jeonghan is a grim reaper and he's just received Joshua's death notice.]
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua & Yoon Jeonghan, Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Yoon Jeonghan, Jeon Wonwoo/Yoon Jeonghan
Kudos: 30





	1. fear // jeonghan

_ fear // jeonghan  _

There had never been many things that made Jeonghan feel genuinely fearful. 

For someone (or perhaps to others,  _ something _ ) that was bound to the earth, hell, and everything else that lay in between, he’d seen too many things, met too many people, to ever truly be afraid of anything. Including death.  _ Especially _ , death. 

However, there was  _ nothing _ more nerve wracking than Joshua being nearly four hours late from work, which really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did after all of these years. He knew better than anyone else that being a detective demanded any and all time Joshua could spare, even if he wasn’t scheduled to work on any given day. Their lives and plans were forced to feel overwhelmingly spontaneous, even though they weren’t the spur-of-the-moment type of people, but they were sacrifices they’d both agreed to make when they started seeing one another as more than best friends. Joshua might find it a bit excessive, but the lengths to which Jeonghan would go in the name of fear and love for his other half were boundless; he’d challenge forces that Joshua would never be able to comprehend in order to procure his safety.

He was nearly about to start biting his nails, which would have been completely out of the ordinary for him, when he heard the sound of keys shifting the deadbolt inward. Jeonghan’s missing heart pounded steadily in his empty chest until he processed Joshua crossing the threshold of the front door. It was then that relief washed over him like a cold shower, waking him from his senseless worries. 

“Hannie,” Joshua cooed breathlessly, dropping his bag with a tired smile plastered on his face. “I’m home.”

Jeonghan would most likely never get over the way Joshua looked at him with such a fierce sense of happiness, even when he was stumbling with exhaustion. He’d lived in this body, this life, this name and persona, for several centuries now, and despite the handful of lovers he’d had over that time, there was no one like Joshua. Deep down he secretly hoped that each of those people he carefully loved were always the same soul, one that he would be forever bound to, perhaps by some twisted sense of fate, in order to protect it through its repetitively short lives and liberate it from the possibility of being swallowed up by a hellish graveyard. 

Whether reincarnation was a legitimate cycle or not was far beyond Jeonghan’s level of expertise, especially as someone who was not associated with one religion or another. Over time he learned it was preferable for grim reapers to remain neutral, it has spared him from many headaches ever since. Regardless, he couldn’t ignore the familiar comfort he felt in the company of such a gentle soul, one that complimented him in the simplest of ways. If he had a soul, he dared to believe Joshua might have been the equivalent of his soulmate. 

Joshua fell into his lap, wrapping his arms around the elder’s neck as he pulled him in for a sweet, but tired, string of kisses. As repelling as it was, Jeonghan didn’t mind the conflicting smells that made up Joshua’s long day. The sweet bitterness of Joshua’s evening coffee mixed with the distinct aroma of dirt and seafood threatened his own gag reflex, but he merely pulled the younger closer into his embrace. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” he spoke softly, gently fixing Joshua’s disheveled bangs. “I was starting to get worried.” 

Joshua sighs against him, relaxing some of his body weight onto him, “I was walking out of the office around eight o’clock to come home when I got a call from one of my partners. Four and a half hours of bickering and conflicting stories later, we left with very little information.” 

Jeonghan frowned sympathetically, letting the words linger and fade into the silence of their shared apartment. Instead he pressed a firm kiss against Joshua’s temple before urging him to stand, which only evoked a childlike whine from his lips. 

“You need to wash off the day so that you can get ready for bed,” he clarified as he stood. “Do you want a shower or a bath?”

“As amazing as a bath sounds, a shower is so much quicker,” Joshua mumbled. 

Jeonghan hummed as he made his way down the hall and into the bathroom. The water would take several minutes to warm up to Joshua’s liking, which would give him just enough time to get up off of the couch and into the bathroom to undress. Jeonghan firmly twisted the temperature control until it was adjusted the way Joshua would like before walking back out into the living room, where he found the latter half asleep on the couch. 

“Nope,” Jeonghan protested, lifting Joshua into a seated position. “Joshua.  _ Shua, _ come on, you need to get up and get in the shower. I promise you can sleep once that’s done.” 

A sound of frustration rumbled in Joshua’s throat, but he cracked open his eyes and peered at him, “Can I sleep in your room then?” 

Jeonghan chuckled, “You sleep in my room every night, Shua.” 

“Not  _ every  _ night.” 

“I can’t help it that you come home way past my bedtime and you end up crashing on the couch.” 

The younger didn’t deem a response, which Jeonghan took advantage of to pull him up from the couch and down the hall. 

“Shower, Shua,” he pushed the door open to find the mirror partially fogged over. “The water is warm enough.” 

Without another word, Joshua stepped in and closed the door behind him. 

While Joshua was in the shower, Jeonghan pushed his way further down the hall towards their room. Despite the fact that they lived in a two bedroom apartment, where they both had their respective rooms, they spent most nights together, sleeping in one room or the other. It didn’t matter to either of them as long as they were together. However, there were also many nights where the other half of the bed remained completely unoccupied for the duration of the night. 

Both of them were at the beck and call of their occupations, which always seemed to be tirelessly inconsistent. 

As far as Joshua knew, Jeonghan worked for one of the prosecutors at one of the neighboring police stations, which wasn’t entirely false. There were dozens,  _ hundreds _ , of grim reapers inhabiting the city. Many of which had normal jobs, mostly working part time, but still working nonetheless. Considering that they were paid for their services, they didn’t need to work human jobs for monetary reasons. Many worked to remind themselves that they were once human, but now nothing more than slaves bound to a life of give-and-take for eternity. Before he and Joshua started dating, he discovered that Wonwoo (a grim reaper he was particularly close to) started working as an assistant to a prosecutor downtown. Ever since then, Jeonghan had been tagging along with Wonwoo to crime scenes. Not because it was entertaining or something he desired to be doing at two or three in the morning sometimes, but because nine times out of ten Jeonghan would be named responsible for collecting the soul of the deceased at the scene. Why Wonwoo wasn’t ever really posed with the opportunity was just as confusing to Jeonghan as it was to the former. 

He was in the middle of selecting some comfortable clothes for Joshua to wear when the latter walked through the door with a towel wrapped around his waist. It was a sight he would never get used to, one that greatly tested his own patience and self control.

Swallowing that building desire, Jeonghan handed the garments to Joshua before shuffling through the drawers for his own set of pajamas. 

Once they were changed, they finally settled into bed for what was left of the night. Joshua drew himself close, resting his head on Jeonghan’s shoulder and tangling their legs together as if it were as natural as breathing. Jeonghan lazily stroked Joshua’s damp hair, which seemed to arouse sleep in both of them. 

Joshua practically fell prey to sleep the moment he settled against the warmth of Jeonghan’s slender figure. It took significantly longer for Jeonghan to fall under sleep’s tempting spell. He probably would have fallen asleep much sooner if he hadn’t come to notice the deep burgundy envelope, stamped with its usual black wax seal, resting against his dresser. He wasn’t worried about Joshua seeing it, because he couldn’t. The only way he’d ever be able to be able to pry into its contents, or even know of its existence in the first place, was if he were to somehow become a grim reaper himself. However, Jeonghan hoped he’d never see that come into fruition. 

Something like dreadful anticipation stirred at the pit of his stomach. Curiosity churned painfully slow. He tried his best to keep his anxious squirming to a minimum for fear of drawing Joshua out of his dreamscape, but his piqued interest in the contents of the death notice would not let him surrender to that lulling sleep. The urge to detangle his limbs from his lover was initially strange, especially when he’d specifically stayed up to see Joshua come home, it was an understatement to say that he was tired. Yet, there was something about receiving an individual’s information that drove him crazy with wonder. 

No person's death was ever the same. Even the most miniscule details made a death unique. Location. Company. Time of day. The clothes they chose to wear on a given day. The color of their car. Each of these little things, and much more, mattered in distinguishing one wandering soul from another. To any given grim reaper, the difference between living humans and souls in waiting was as obvious as night and day. However if normal human beings were given the same opportunity to see the world in the same way that grim reapers could, they would most likely never be able to tell the difference. To them, souls would probably appear in the same manner that any other person would. Contrary to popular belief, souls are neither transparent or neutral in color, and it’s because of their wholesome appearance that makes the job of soul collecting so difficult at times. As far as differentiation goes, the level of difficulty varies from reaper to reaper, and more importantly the circumstances in which a person has died. Eight times out of ten, the souls that were typically assigned to him were peaceful deaths (i.e. passing away in one's sleep, terminal illnesses, and so on). Graphic deaths were rare, typically assigned (to him at least) once every several months. 

Each time Jeonghan was sure sleep was on the edge of claiming him, the siren song of the anonymous burgundy envelope pulled at his thoughts. He huffed a frustrated sigh, gently wrapping his fingers around Joshua’s arms, which were securely wrapped around him, and unlatched him as carefully as he could manage. Luckily for him, Joshua only stirred ever so slightly, only to turn onto his stomach. He waited several minutes until he was sure that Joshua was surely in the clutches of deep sleep before standing from the stiff mattress.

He crossed the room until his thighs were pressed up against the cool wood of his dresser. Even in the dimly lit room he could make out the intricate floral detailing etched into the face of the envelope, not that it was significant or anything along those lines, it was more so that their administration appeared to have nothing better to do than concern themselves with the aesthetics of its stationary. Rolling his eyes at the trivial detailing, he turned the notice over until the minimalistic black seal was staring back at him. 

Jeonghan plucked up the seal and unfolded the thick paper until he was able to recognize the characters that had been written there. 

Not only had it been a death notice, but an advanced one at that. The information regarding a person's death provided  _ far _ in advance rather than having to abide by a spontaneous but peaceful death. Most of the time, advanced notices arrive solely for the sake of the grim reaper, think of it as a courteous warning, merely because most advanced notices are associated with gruesome deaths. It gives the assignee time to brush up on the possible reactions that the deceased may or may not exhibit at the time of collection. Many souls turn violent as a result of their denial, and it has always been the utmost priority to maintain the safety of the grim reaper over the soul in question. Whether or not the soul adapts into something inherently malicious is not within the boundaries (read: job description) of the grim reaper.  _ That _ responsibility is left to living exorcists who are far more familiar with the proper regulations for cleansing a soul that has been turned. 

While it’s strictly prohibited for grim reapers to expose their identity to any living being, long ago—long before Jeonghan’s time—the Administration of Fates was forced into some ambiguous deal with a group of corrupt priests who’d learned the art of exorcism. Since grim reapers were merely summoned to collect a soul that was on course for passing onto its next life, the administration had agreed to the priests’ terms.  _ Let the living do the dirty work,  _ he once thought. Ever since then, souls that were considered to be dangerous, or predicted to be potentially dangerous, were handed off to a group of middlemen that would deliver said souls to priests that were still deeply involved in that organization. 

All of that to say, in short, receiving an advanced death notice was essentially never a good thing. Almost every single instance in which Jeonghan was summoned via an advanced notice, he would end up handing the soul off to someone he was surely never going to meet again, which basically guaranteed the disappearance of the soul as well. 

Violent souls do not even begin to compare to violent humans. They’re on their own level, and the imminent threat to a grim reaper's life could prove fatal if he or she doesn’t take the necessary precautions to protect themselves. Since souls are no longer bound to a limited human body, the strength which they possess grows infinitely as long as they are left to wander. They soak up the buzzing energy around them and use it to commit horrible acts against other souls that have not passed on yet either, and in many cases against those who have been assigned to collect them. 

In all of his time living and working as a grim reaper, Jeonghan was only aware of a handful of incidents involving stray violent souls and humans. Even though the total number of cases was recorded to be less than a hundred, that didn’t stop Jeonghan from using some of his spare time to keep an eye on Joshua from time to time. If there ever came a time where Jeonghan would be forced to choose between the life of the person he’s loved for so long and his own, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw himself into the fire to save Joshua. 

Grim reapers are by no means immortal, or even invincible for that matter. Although they are capable of living for as long as time itself, much like humans they are still considered to be vulnerable against any force that could potentially harm them. It all seemed rather comical the more Jeonghan lingered on it; they were beings that were forced to serve the higher powers for an eternity, and yet it would all cease to exist once their second life is wretched from their grasp. Whether it was inadvertent or deliberately planned, they would end up wandering in the depths of hell as a result of breaking their oath.

_ So much for getting to reap the benefits for what was essentially several lifetimes worth of service,  _ he thought. 

He flattened the note against the smooth wood, straining his eyes in the dark against the black type print. If he knew that stepping out of the room to explore its contents wouldn’t wake Joshua from his light sleep, he would have, but he couldn’t run the risk of Joshua getting up to ask all sorts of questions he wouldn’t be able to answer. 

There was no explanation he could provide for why he was aimlessly scanning the contents of his fingers, his other half completely oblivious to the tangible stationary that was perched between his fingers. There was no explaining why he was suddenly wide awake at nearly two in the morning when he was clearly moments away from falling asleep when they’d settled into bed. Most of all, in this life, there would never be any possible way of explaining who he’d become centuries ago, and why he had to live this life of endless servitude. It was the forbidden fruit that blindly swayed between them, and it almost pained Jeonghan to keep it a secret, knowing that he would never be able to expose his story—not unless he wanted a one way ticket to his fiery doom. 

Joshua had always been so honest with him from the beginning, whether it was his struggles at work, tense situations between family members, or even forgetting to pick something up while shopping for groceries, he was transparent through and through. While Jeonghan had always been a mystery, and Joshua once admitted that it was part of his charm, but there was a lot of room for suspicion whenever he would see Joshua turn inward for long periods of time. He knew that Joshua was curious about his past, clueless to just how far back it stretched, and was curious about his friends and family, but he had no answers for his implicit questions. Joshua was too nice, too understanding, to ask him anything outright, merely assuming that there was something that left a deep scar in his heart, one that was convincingly deep enough to completely ignore the memories that were buried there. So Joshua insisted on keeping his curiosity in the dark, despite the fact that it continues to grow as the days pass by. He knew when to ask questions, how to ask them, what subjects were okay to discuss and which ones were off limits, and Jeonghan was blessed in every way to have him. He could only hope that one day, in some life where they could just be each other, that he would be able to explain everything he wasn’t able to now. 

He pulled himself from his spiraling thoughts long enough to check on Joshua just behind him; he’d always been a quiet sleeper, but he was also the lightest sleeper he’d ever met. It never posed an issue between them, but Jeonghan couldn’t help but wonder what churned in Joshua’s mind. Just what exactly worried him to the point of only being able to drift his way through the lightest stages of sleep?

Jeonghan sighed softly as he turned his attention back to the details on the page in front of him. To say there was a lot of detailed information provided felt like an understatement. Yet, not once in his entire career as a grim reaper had the Administration of Fates been wrong about the details concerning a person's death. That was both the beauty and horror of fate. 

It wasn’t until Jeonghan had become a grim reaper that he finally understood why people were so hung up on the idea of fate, why people assumed that life had dealt them either the worst or the best cards, because it had always been real. Even he, someone who was hard to convince of anything, was immediately assured of fate’s role in the lives of each and every living person. Once, he would have laughed at those who believed that fate ruled over life on earth, believing that such a notion was foolish and, in theory, blatantly impossible. But now the tables have turned, and listening to clueless humans debate the issue was his new form of entertainment.

Every living person lived according to a life that was written for them. Not necessarily to a tee, but the main plot points of a person’s life were essentially concrete. The subplots and minor details were left for the individual to decide, but there would be no escaping the climactic moments, the plot twists, or the fixed resolution that had no open ending.

Even the fate of grim reapers is predetermined. Specifically hand selected by the office of the Administration. How they judge and select their reapers has always been what has made him the most curious, and yet he’d never received an answer, no matter how many times he pestered others for the truth. For it wasn’t the job of grim reapers to ask questions, but to follow and serve until their time was up. 

—

Daybreak was beginning to gradually peek through the shutters when Jeonghan realized he still hadn't had a wink of sleep. 

He’d combed through the literature of the ornately designed notice several times over with a fine tooth comb, emphasizing even the most trivial of details until he could see the image when he closed his eyes to take a break. It was one of complete and utter darkness, shrouded in a frigid bitterness that crept up the back of his throat ever so slowly. If he hadn’t been consistently reminding himself to breathe here and there, he was bound to have passed out from a hefty mixture of anxiety and dread. 

There was no denying the authenticity of the contents or its source. The letter itself was one of a kind, and the details which it guarded from prying eyes were as extravagant and bewildering as something straight out of a blockbuster film. A lot of the cases that were assigned to him seemed to feel that way, but this one in particular opened a door that had been locked for decades. Jeonghan had spent just as long hoping that door would never be breached, and now that it had, he felt empty.

“Jeonghan?”

He hadn’t even heard Joshua’s footsteps in the hallway just behind him. A warm pair of hands braced him on either side of his shoulders, and Jeonghan instantly melted against it. It was a moment much like this that Jeonghan wished their lives were normal. All things considered, they did live a normal lifestyle, worked normal jobs (for the most part), and (mostly) normal friends. Everything about their life together appeared and felt ordinary, except for the glaring stain that was Yoon Jeonghan himself. His own existence. 

The very foundation of their relationship was built on a bed of lies, and it was only a matter of time before that ticking time bomb harmed an innocent bystander. Because to any other grim reaper, Joshua was exactly that. Nothing more than someone you would pass by as while wandering along the sidewalk, that is until his name was assigned to any one of them. Then he would be an indefinite person of interest until the deed was done. 

“What are you doing up this early?” Joshua teased. 

It must have been time for Joshua to head into the office, whether he was scheduled to go in or not, because there was no way the younger would be out of bed this early if it weren’t for work. 

Jeonghan shook his head casually and slumped against Joshua’s figure, “I just woke up. The bedroom was a little stuffy so I came out for a bit.” 

The latter hummed a small noise of acknowledgement, his fingers playing with the longer strands of Jeonghan’s white-blonde hair. Jeonghan shut his eyes at the sudden comfort that washed over him, his body feeling heavier and heavier with each stroke. 

Although each of his senses were beginning to dull, sleep’s seductive spell wafting over his sense of consciousness, he still managed to filter through it when Joshua said, “I have to head to work here soon. I don’t know how long I’ll be out, so if I’m not home by dinner you can just eat without me. Okay?”

“Don’t be silly,” he mumbled. “I’d always wait for you.”

Joshua chuckled at the elder’s dreamlike trance, “Right, like I haven’t heard that one before,” he said before placing a sweet kiss at the crown of Jeonghan’s head, all before gently guiding his body into a comfortable position against the cushions. He rounded the couch until he was crouched just in front of a dozing Jeonghan.

“Rest. I’ll be home later.” 

And it was at that point Joshua was sure that he was speaking to thin air, but he felt a lot more comfortable this way. 

Joshua was about to press a kiss to Jeonghan’s temple when he felt a pair of nimble fingers wrap around his own. Only slightly puzzled, he pulled back and found Jeonghan’s eyes still closed against the rest of the world.

“Be careful,” he whispered breathlessly. “I love you.” 

“I love you to death, Yoon Jeonghan,” Joshua gently squeezed his hand before letting go and leaving the room in search of his tie. 

It wasn’t until Joshua was out the door, deadbolt locked securely in place, when Jeonghan’s eyes snapped open.

His heart was still in his chest, as it always had been ever since he’d passed into this life. Joshua had questioned him many times over as to why he’d never been able to hear or feel the pulsing there, but Jeonghan could only resort to saying anything remotely snarky. He’d pointed out numerous times, perhaps more times than he should have, that if there was something wrong with his heart he would be buried in a ditch somewhere (which wasn’t a lie entirely). After about the fifth time of repeating this sorry excuse for an explanation, he assumed that Joshua had swallowed his worries since he hadn’t asked again after that point. 

Yet, for whatever reason the empty crevice seemed to ache until the pain was  _ almost _ too much to bear. 

Jeonghan thought it would be difficult to explain his odd behaviors to Joshua someday. The reasons behind why he had such trouble sleeping. The way the appearance of his emotions never seemed to amount to that of a normal human being. Everything about his personal life had been carefully crafted,  _ fabricated  _ so perfectly that even the national authorities would be thoroughly convinced he was a full fledged citizen. 

But, he also thought it would be impossible to properly explain to him who he was,  _ what  _ he was, his purpose in everything. There was only one way he’d be able to prove everything he’d been protecting for all of this time, and there was nothing he wanted more than for Joshua to live a long and happy life before that inevitable day would come. Especially since they would never be able to live out their lives the way Jeonghan has always dreamed of. Not just because grim reapers were incapable of aging past the age at which they committed their crime, but because their paths were destined to diverge so drastically that Jeonghan would have no choice but to voluntarily (yet reluctantly) let him go. 

There was no telling how earth shattering it would be to tell Joshua that he was supposed to die in a few days time.

And it would be he who collects him at the bridge between heaven and hell. 

It went against everything he stood for, everything he’d been sworn to secrecy to protect. But he would do his best to ensure that Joshua crossed over in the most peaceful manner possible. Even if it called for exposing everything that Joshua deserved to know about long ago.


	2. pain // joshua

_ pain // joshua  _

Joshua has been a detective for nearly five years now. He’d met many people, and probably has seen too many things he desperately wished he could unsee. But almost much more significantly, he had spent countless hours developing his immunity against pathological liars. 

Having seen and heard the most ridiculously woven stories first hand, Joshua  _ thought  _ he would have been able to notice Jeonghan’s behavior a lot sooner. 

There was no doubt in his mind that he was completely captivated and driven by the love that swelled deep in his soul for Jeonghan (and he daresay Jeonghan only), but he also hardly doubted the inconsistencies that seemed to follow him around like a shadow.

Whatever Jeonghan thought he was hiding from him, and the rest of the world, was far from a secret. If anything, he might as well have announced to the world that he was much less than normal. No matter how much he ached to be. There was always going to be something that set him apart from the other eight billion people of the world.

Despite the many years Joshua dedicated to gathering each of the puzzle pieces together, he knew there was something striking that set him apart from the rest. He was still missing the key pieces that would create the cohesive picture he’d been anticipating after all of this time. Each time he thought he was getting that much closer to an answer, somehow he’d managed to take several steps back in the process.

He and Jeonghan met when they were twenty and twenty-one respectively, which was almost eight years ago now. Ironically, they met in a bar, regardless of the fact that neither of them preferred drinking all that much,  _ and  _ found nightlife to be both overpriced and (simply speaking) a thirst trap for young adults. 

They only managed to meet on the basis of pure coincidence—perhaps it could have been fate, but due to the overwhelming lack of evidence, he wasn’t sure what to make of it—or maybe it was the fact that they were both content with being wallflowers that sheer commonality drove them together. Joshua had never been able to remember just how they’d come together that night, and at this point it didn’t matter, he didn’t care  _ how  _ it happened. He was just grateful to the universe that Jeonghan had been brought to him.

Almost immediately, something about Jeonghan always seemed to appear off. Whether it was his physical appearance, his mannerisms, which included his overly proper manner of speaking (which has also mostly dissolved over the years), or his mysterious personality. At that time, everything that Joshua had ever been taught in the police academy up to that point screamed for him to dig much deeper. And even though he pushed and pushed, for the longest time Jeonghan was unrelenting when it came to opening up to him. His guard had always been up; twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, all year long. Once they’d truly taken a step back and dedicated the time to developing their promising friendship, Jeonghan had relaxed greatly and opened up far more than Joshua initially expected. It was also at that point when Joshua realized he didn’t want to be Jeonghan’s friend. He wanted to be Jeonghan’s world and wanted to bring him into his own. 

To put it bluntly, he wanted to know everything there was to Yoon Jeonghan. Genuinely. Even if it meant spending the rest of his life trying to tear down the various walls that had put up around his heart. Whatever may have happened to him in the past must have been significantly life altering if someone so gentle made the decision to be  _ this  _ closed off. It almost seemed uncanny, but he’d compromised with himself, deciding that perhaps Jeonghan was far too timid and just needed that time to get comfortable. Which actually turned out to be a proper assessment on his part in the end. 

Nevertheless, they’d both agreed to leave the past where it belonged. Whoever Jeonghan had been in his dark but mysterious past was not the same man who’d managed to learn how to love not only himself but another as well. 

However, despite their promise to forget and start anew, he couldn’t help but think that Jeonghan was holding on to everything for dear life. Completely and utterly agonizing over it, as if whatever happened to him when he was much younger was still leading the front lines of his future. 

It wasn’t until they started dating, and eventually moved in together, that Joshua realized that he might have initially misjudged the elder. Once they started cohabitating, it were as if someone had flicked the switch on Jeonghan’s personality. He’d become much more talkative, he didn’t seem to be constantly on the edge of his seat, and even though they cherished each other deeply, Jeonghan had come to realize that their bond delved so much deeper than love, whatever may be beyond that was beneath both of them, even Joshua was unable to explain the connection between them. Whatever it was, it felt right, and more importantly it made him feel safe. 

And yet despite all that security, despite all of the good Jeonghan has ever done for him, he knew that Jeonghan had been lying for a long time. And if Joshua didn’t love him as much as he did, he probably wouldn’t have cared. But he did love him, tragically and tremendously, with every fiber of his being, and he cared about all of the little things. He cared about whether or not Jeonghan slept soundly through the night, if he was eating enough, if he was taking his vitamins, if he was wearing a sweater on a cold day. He cared about the trivial things, the significant things, and everything else that lay in between. And maybe Joshua may have never noticed that the man he invested so much time in may have always been lying to him. Perhaps never noticing if it weren’t for Jeonghan’s silent chest.

To this day, it remains to be the only shred of evidence to support his semi-skeptical theory that there may in fact be people walking amongst them who have been allotted much longer lifespans than those of the collective ordinary. Or to put simply, there may or may not be people out there who are immortal. 

He’d never been much of a believer in anything that didn’t have a solid foundation of research to it. Not even when his mother once tried to convince him as a child that if he didn’t go to sleep on time then she would summon some nameless spirit to make due with him. The fact of the matter was that it all seemed just that—childish. Ghosts, soulmates, vampires, the lot. There weren’t enough docuseries, books, and or studies to really prove any of it. It was merely one person's word against everyone else. And frankly he hadn’t been convinced. 

To even begin to think that the love of his life may have been otherworldly, for whatever reason, felt like a huge blow to his pride. He’d spent his whole life hardening himself against whatever bullshit may come his way; it came as a complete shock to him that his incidents with Jeonghan were enough to shatter the enamel of it all. It was the first and only time Joshua believed in something as strange as immortality and the possibility that it had never actually been a myth. That the living proof might have always been closer to him than he originally thought. Because no matter how often he contemplated the issue, once he’d put everything into context, he couldn’t deny that Jeonghan’s mannerisms and behavior seemed to fall in line (and thus make much more sense) with that of the thoughts that kept him awake at night. 

There was no rational explanation as to why Jeonghan never seemed to grow, neither taller nor shorter. Or why his face still appeared the same way as it had when they first met nearly a decade ago. (No one's skin care routine was  _ that  _ effective.) And perhaps this explained as to how Jeonghan had always appeared much older than his actual age when they’d first met. The many photos they’d taken over the years would attest to it. 

He wanted to believe he was stuck in an endless spiraling denial, but things had always been too strange. The truth had always been hovering above him, and he’d been too closed minded to study it. But it was the fear of confirming such a truth that held him back. 

At the end of the day, Jeonghan was Jeonghan, and he would love that man until his internal clock stopped ticking. Yet, if his hypothesized suspicion was far more than just that...then what? Jeonghan is Jeonghan.

Jeonghan...is Jeonghan.

And perhaps it was time that Jeonghan realized that it’s not customary to make it seem like your boyfriend is an absolute fool. 

—

Having a case thrown at him the minute Joshua walked through the office doors was the least bit surprising. He’d always been prioritized by his superiors to receive this case and that. However, having to partner with Jeon Wonwoo was  _ not  _ what he had in mind. 

Wonwoo was a detective on the other side or town, and as far as anyone on Joshua’s team was concerned, he was a rival worthy of showing up. 

Joshua really had nothing against Wonwoo, other than the fact that the younger was often assigned more cases than them. There was no helping the fact that Wonwoo was so damn likable to literally everyone. Including himself.  _ Including Jeonghan _ . And it was for that reason Joshua agreed to work with him, despite the fact that he was more than capable of conducting the case on his own with his own team.

However, since the case itself is centrally located in between the jurisdiction lines, he really has no choice but to share it. Joshua tried to seek internal justification by rationalizing that a joint case would be beneficial to both offices—they would have an abundance of resources, they would have extra men to cover more ground in less time, and they would be able to go home on time everyday until the case was closed. In addition, he knew that Jeonghan often worked alongside Wonwoo when homicide cases were assigned, so depending on the details of the assignment would determine whether or not he’d finally be able to see Jeonghan in action. 

He’d been  _ begging _ Jeonghan for  _ years _ to come and work in the homicide unit at the station on his side of town, but Jeonghan always smugly declined, explaining that it would be a conflict of interest and they would never be able to get any work done. Plus, Jeonghan and Wonwoo have been friends for a long time, and Jeonghan always considered working alongside Wonwoo as their time to hang out, since everyone’s schedules never seemed to align anyways. So, in the end, Joshua had forgone his endless cycle of half-joking pleas.

Yet another thing Joshua was least expecting the moment he walked into work was the mountainous pile of papers and banker boxes that began to stack up. Did he even have a desk? Was he even in the right office? Because he was damn sure that his desk was clear of even a single speck of dust before he left the night before. It was scarier to think that he couldn’t even see his partner, Kim Mingyu, on the other side of it, and that was saying something, considering the man was a giant compared to him.

“What the fuck is this?” Joshua cursed, his fresh cup of coffee nearly slipping from his hand (and if that happened, the whole day would be damned for everyone involved). 

Mingyu couldn’t even bother to look up from his phone long enough to say, “Looks like some boxes to me.”

It wasn’t necessarily a response that shocked Joshua in the slightest; however, he still hadn’t recovered from the number of hours he’d worked the day prior, and frankly wasn’t in the mood to dance their usual banter.

Leaning back in his chair, Mingyu smirked in an effort to break the tension, “Okay. Not a good time to joke around, got it.” He pulled his hands up in front of him in a faux defensive gesture, “They’re case files. It’s a mixture between the ones found somewhere in our department and copies that were sent from the station across town. Apparently, there’s reasonable suspicion that our newest case, and the remainder of these ongoing cases, are all linked in some manner or another.” 

Joshua rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard that before, only for the cases to be mutually exclusive? He took one look at the desk, one that he was surely convinced couldn’t be his desk, and suddenly the urge to walk out the door and head back home to Jeonghan was as tempting as that of a sirens song.

“So, why couldn’t Wonwoo just send us a condensed version of all of this?” Joshua pondered aloud. There was no point in trying to hide his annoyance, so he didn’t. “This  just seems a bit overkill. They could have just faxed any copies of requested information.” 

Mingyu stood, hovering close to Joshua as they studied South Korea’s newest mountain. 

“You think it’s some sort of practical joke?” Mingyu offered, fiddling with some stray pieces of hair that fell into his face. 

Joshua scoffed, “At this point, who cares. Just start sifting through and see what sort of useful information you guys can pull out of it.” 

“You want us to—”

One exhausted and clearly ticked off expression was enough to drive Mingyu into silence, which further prompted him to gather his team of investigators to get straight to work. 

Each of them took a box for themselves, which only spoke levels as to how many boxes had collected there, and began sifting through copies upon copies of case files, police reports, evidence analyses, the whole lot. It was bound to take all day (perhaps  _ days _ ) to get through it all, but they would. They weren’t named the greatest group of detectives for nothing. 

Joshua was barely about to take his first sip of coffee for the day when the landline on his desk filled the room. He took several tired step towards it and couldn’t even bring himself to pay attention to the caller ID as he answered. 

“This is Detective Hong.” 

“Did you like my gift?”

He had to force a laugh, clenching the handle of his mug as hard as he could for first thing in the morning, when he heard Wonwoo’s deep voice on the other end of the line.

“What’d you do? Sneak into our office and drop all of this on us in the middle of the night?”

“Seeing as I’m a very man, there’s no way I could have done it personally,” Wonwoo mocked jokingly.

Joshua rolled his eyes, switching the phone from one ear to the other, “That’s not a denial. Anyways, did you call to gloat or to give me some useful information regarding all of this?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Wonwoo chuckled dryly, but moments later his tone was serious. Professional. “We need to meet as soon as you're available. I think an investigation like this could benefit from the opinions of many.” 

“Jesus,” Joshua sighed. “At least let me finish my coffee before calling me and asking me to dinner. You know I’m basically a married man.”

“Who said anything about—”

“Six o’clock. We’ll meet at our station here.” 

And that was the end of that. 

He slammed the phone down before running his hands deeply through his dark chocolate colored locks. Joshua could feel his temper beginning to boil his blood, and he was sure that if anyone else had some smart ass remark to make, before this cup of coffee was consumed, he would lose it. 

—

“Yo, bossman.” 

They’d been working diligently for nearly three hours straight, and Joshua would be lying if he didn’t say he was in the zone. Leave it to Mingyu to break his concentration just when he finally managed to get into a groove. 

Joshua slowly turned in his chair until Mingyu was in his field of vision, “If what you’re about to say to me is anything but important I think we’re going to have to rethink our partnership.” 

Mingyu looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and honestly even that expression didn’t seem to do it justice. It were as if he’d been within reach of death’s henchmen, who they’d been told stories about as children. 

“Ah, you see…” Mingyu chuckled nervously. “Minghao and Jun think they found a connection that links all of the cases—”

_ “What?” _ Joshua shot up from his chair, grabbing the file he’d been working through, his aim was to make his way over toward the whiteboard where Jun and Minghao were speaking to one another rather intensely. That was until Mingyu stepped into his path. 

“ _ But…”  _ he interrupted. “What they’ve found are merely strong similarities in aspects of the cases. Ages of victims, the vicinity in which the crimes were committed, the sort of evidence that was left behind—”

Joshua slapped the file in his hand hard against Mingyu’s chest, pinning it there for a long moment before the younger grabbed hold of it, “At this rate, any avenue of information is worth considering. If there are as many similarities as you say there are, we are gonna listen to what they’ve found.” 

Pushing past the taller, he rounded the desk and marched over to the duo. 

“Tell me what you’ve got,” Joshua ordered, plopping down into the stool that seemed to be placed perfectly between the two. Both appeared startled by Joshua’s sudden presence in their conversation, but they still managed to seem composed nonetheless. 

Minghao leaned against the wall, suddenly appearing relaxed as he folded his arms across his chest. “Nothing but mere suspicion and common sense at this point. All of the cases appear to be rooted in some hit-and-run robbery sort of scenario. Most of the victims are females, particularly upper class women, which isn’t surprising to say the least. The range of age is approximately anywhere between twenty one and thirty two, which is significantly widespread considering the number of attacks.” 

“However, the biggest inconsistency seems to stem from the testimonies of the eyewitnesses,” Jun interjected. “Everyone’s got something different to say, so while it’s important to separate fact from fiction, it could take weeks to put together a comprehensive report.” 

“I don’t know,” Joshua mused. “What you guys just told me seems like a decent enough report for us to build off of.” 

Minghao cleared his throat, “It’s only a theory. There’s no saying whether or not the suspect, or suspects, are one and the same.” 

Joshua rolled his shoulders, stretching the stiff muscles there, “A theory is better than nothing. Please prepare the official report by five o’clock, I’m meeting Wonwoo at six, so I would like to see what his findings and feelings are regarding all of this.” 

Neither of them bothered to argue further, rather they left Joshua alone with his thoughts, his mind absolutely spinning. 


	3. guilt // jeonghan

_ guilt // jeonghan _

Jeonghan was sure he would have slept all day if it hadn’t been for Wonwoo calling at nearly four in the afternoon that same day. Not that he had a consistent sleep schedule anyways, but was ultimately grateful that he worked in a profession with flexible hours (most of the time at least). 

He was exhausted after staying up all night, pondering and studying the notice that had been sent from headquarters. He desperately wished it was nothing more than a dream, but there was no denying the envelope that continued to taunt him. 

The number of assignments that are tasked to any particular grim reaper at a time really depends on the quality of their work. Believe it or not, work ethic is worth everything. If they finish their tasks promptly and with considerable discretion, then the probability of earning more assignments is much greater. Jeonghan himself juggles, on average, about ten to twelve cases a week. Some weeks are slower, while there are some weeks where he feels as if he and Joshua never get the chance to see one another. They would see one another in passing, such as if he was working on a case with Wonwoo, or if Joshua was coming home when it was his turn to leave to start his own work day. To say it was difficult felt cheap, but they managed all the same. 

Oftentimes, Jeonghan wondered what their lives would have been like if they were merely two young men in love. Rather than one hollow shell of a man and one who was capable of living a completely normal human life. How different would they have been? He almost wished worldwalking was possible for someone of his particular skill set; because, surely, if grim reapers and demons existed, who’s to say that alternative dimensions didn’t? For he desperately wanted to visit a world in which that was a reality for them. He imagined and hoped that it would be a peaceful life, one that was far less chaotic, where they could relish in their love rather than their long and unpredictable work weeks. 

But there was no telling if some place like that existed. 

For many reasons, Jeonghan couldn’t help but feel...guilty. Regretful. This was not to say that he’d ever regret meeting Joshua, who was perhaps the greatest thing to ever happen to him, but rather he regretted existing in this form. He mourned all of their lost opportunities, all of the memories which they could have crafted with one another, but what pained him the most was the irrefutable fact that he was always destined to outlive Joshua. Whether Joshua were to die tomorrow, or if he were to live until he was old and gray, Jeonghan would continue to live on. 

And on. 

_ And on. _ Forever in this timeless youth. 

He wouldn’t have been able to stay with Joshua, despite his overflowing well of desperation that wanted to keep him attached to the younger for the rest of their days. Nonetheless, their age would eventually show.  _ His  _ age would eventually begin to show itself for what it truly is—infinitely transfixed by time and fate itself. 

Wonwoo was one and the same. Even though Wonwoo has been a grim reaper much longer than Jeonghan, their circumstances were similar in nature. 

If one committed a heinous crime in their past life, whether it be accidental or not, then there was no escaping one’s fate in being assigned to their role as a grim reaper. Unfortunately for them, they both respectively happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time under some of the most unfortunate conditions.

In Wonwoo’s case, he died in the late seventeenth century. He was under the merciless control of a greedy dynastic advisor who greatly desired to see through that their king met his untimely end. Acting as nothing more than a puppet, Wonwoo was revealed to be that advisor's hands, eyes, and ears when it was discovered that the king had been poisoned. Almost immediately after being exposed as the perpetrator, Wonwoo had been summoned to an instant execution. Little did he know that would be the very beginning of his lifelong career as one of death’s many aides.

Initially, it was hard listening to Wonwoo tell his story. Jeonghan could tell that he’d told it one too many times. If anything, Wonwoo appeared  _ bored,  _ as if his story was trivial or insignificant in relation to everything else in their newly acquired immortal lives. But that wasn’t the reason Jeonghan had a difficult time accepting Wonwoo’s story. What set Jeonghan over the edge was that Wonwoo never had a choice—he had been destined to become a murderer. The moment he was born into a middle class family that had been serving nobles for generations, his fate had been sealed. 

Jeonghan, on the other hand, could have made better choices leading up to the accident that essentially catapulted him into a life of servitude. Where Wonwoo had died at the end of the seventeenth century, Jeonghan had passed into this new life at the beginning of the nineteenth. To keep a long story short, Jeonghan had been invited by his fellow counterparts to have a drink after a long day of working. One thing led to another, and there was no predicting a fight would break out amongst friends. The hostility was amped up enough for one of them to pull a dagger, which had shocked everyone except those involved. No one wanted to step in to separate the quarreling pair of friends, therefore Jeonghan took the responsibility upon himself. Until he wished he hadn’t. 

In an effort to twist the dagger out of his friend’s hand, the liquor he’d consumed distorted his line of vision. One minute the dagger was between them, then the next it had sunk deep into the chest of the assailant. 

And suddenly, he was a murderer. 

—

He and Wonwoo were quite fond of meeting up at places that didn’t necessarily suit them. 

Even though they loved coffee, sitting down and catching up at a cafe wasn’t their style. They typically took their drinks to go and wound up at a park somewhere. Yet, for whatever reason, Wonwoo insisted on just resting in the cafe for once. 

Jeonghan was about to take another long draw of his iced coffee when Wonwoo asked, “What’s on your mind?”

He merely shook his head by means of responding, but the latter rolled his eyes. Wonwoo knew him better than anyone, especially Joshua, so he knew there was no escaping Wonwoo’s not-so-subtle critical stare. 

“You’re being too quiet,” Jeonghan hated that Wonwoo knew him so well. “What’s going on? Did you and Joshua have a fight or something?” 

“You know we don’t fight,” he reminds him. “I received a new assignment last night.” 

Wonwoo blew at the steam that danced at the lip of his mug before taking a sip, “That’s the fifth one for this week isn’t it?” 

Jeonghan pulled the notice from his inner jacket pocket, tossing it frustratingly across the surface of the table toward his mentor. Wonwoo didn’t even so much as flinch when he recognized the envelope and it’s broken seal. 

“You would think in this day and age the administration would upgrade from these infernal things.” Wonwoo rolled his eyes, playing with the frayed edges of the seal. “Plus, why black? This is why grim reapers get a bad rep.” 

Wonwoo chuckled as he began to open the notice to review its content, which wasn’t entirely unusual for them since they were so close. If anything, it was completely normal for grim reapers to share the details of their assignments with their colleagues. It was the only form of entertainment they could manage while on duty. 

“I mean, why can’t we just—”

The abrupt silence from the opposite side of the table told Jeonghan everything he needed to know. For the first time in a  _ long  _ time, Wonwoo was speechless—the man who always had something to say, despite being naturally quiet, was completely caught off guard.

_ “Jeonghan…” _ Wonwoo’s voice trembled in shock. “What—how did this happen?” 

A sigh deflated his chest, “You know better than anyone there’s nothing to be done about this. The only thing I can do is try my best to make sure Shua doesn’t fall prey to darkness when he passes over. I won’t let him become… _ violent.” _

“But—but…” Wonwoo scanned the contents of the assignment several times over, as Jeonghan had done the night prior. “My god, why is this advanced notice so... _ vague?  _ That’s not normal. It’s protocol for Admin to include all of the details.”

“You think I don’t know that?” 

He was overwhelmed with bitterness and uncertainty. There was no knowing how Joshua was going to react, other than complete and utter disbelief. Joshua didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t see for himself. There was no convincing him of anything without some sort of scientific backing to it. Even Jeonghan, who knew even his most trivial quirks, was nervous about not only how Joshua would react to being dead, but to Jeonghan and his world as well.

Wonwoo pushed his bangs back, “I think you’re handling this pretty well all things considered, which I know isn’t common. You’re not letting it show, but this is tearing you up inside...and I want you to know that you can talk to me. Even if it’s hard, or you don’t know what exactly is running through that mind of yours, you can lean on me.” 

Jeonghan wanted to bang his head against the glass, wanted to make sense of everything that appeared to be crashing around him without any sense of justification. But that was death. 

He’d learned the long and hard way that death doesn’t discriminate. Death doesn’t care about whether or not a person worked a nine to five job to take care of people they love. Death doesn’t care if a new mother had just given birth to their first child. Death doesn’t care if a bride and groom are planning to wed by the end of the week. Death is a void, a cosmic power, that is unforgiving and indifferent about things that humans are so invested in—money, beauty, age, family,  _ love— _ and there is no force in the world strong enough to overpower it. No matter how desperate a person may be, or how lucky they may think they are, death will always turn a blind eye. 

Fate is fate. Different from destiny in many ways, and commonly associated with death by many, but humans rely on both all the same. It’s how they seek to justify their actions, their feelings, and the wrong doings that have either been brought down upon them, or have been inflicted upon someone else. 

As one of Fate’s many assistants, Jeonghan had learned that fate is not as obscure as he once believed it to be. It was calculative, detailed, and carried out effectively. Contrary to what the average person has chalked it up to be: shrouded in mystery, ambiguous, and in some cases, magical. 

The mystery of death, and a person's fate, is uncertainty. It’s what makes life a little more anxiety inducive. And that’s exactly what Jeonghan had forgotten, he’d become numb to the fear that is coupled with the end of a life. He’d spent centuries collecting and calming souls that were still attempting to wrap their limited consciousness around what had happened to them, he’d forgotten what it was like to be human, what it was like to feel afraid. 

Although his feelings were nothing but a manifestation of emotions his body remembered from long ago, the sensations still managed to overpower him. He wanted to bend to its will and pray that a miracle would spare Joshua. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Wonwoo commented. “Say everything out loud. Talk through it with me.”

Jeonghan could feel the subtle sting at the corners of his eyes. He took a deep breath, fiddling with his narrow fingers as he turned his head downward.

“How am I going to do this?” His voice was soft, but his throat felt tight. Almost painful. “Why did it have to be  _ me?  _ Seriously. What are the odds that  _ I,  _ of all people, am assigned the responsibility to guide Joshua’s soul home?” 

There was a long pause but Wonwoo remained silent.

“This feels...cruel,” he continued. “I’ve spent all of our time together trying to fight against all of the guilt that’s gradually built up. For the first time, Joshua is finally going to see who I am. Who I  _ really  _ am,  _ what _ I am, and I have no idea how he’s going to respond. My biggest fear is that he’ll be livid, just so incredibly angry that he won’t want me to guide him. I’ve been lying to him after all of this time, stacking up lie after lie after lie...and there’s nothing in this world that Joshua hates more than a liar.” 

Wonwoo leaned forward in his chair, and after taking another sip of his drink he asked, “Don’t you think the way Joshua feels about you would transcend all of that?” He placed his cup against the smooth surface of the worn table before continuing. “There are _...millions  _ of grim reapers around the world. We all follow the same guidelines and are all expected to maintain our secrecy. If you expose yourself to Joshua now, you’ll disappear as if you merely ceased to exist, completely wiped from everyone’s memory…”

Jeonghan’s eyes flickered across the table. He’d never heard of an instance where Wonwoo begged for  _ anything.  _ He was too prideful for anything like that. But for whatever reason, the way that he looked at him seemed desperate, as if he were silently crying out and pleading for him to heed this warning. To keep the truth to himself for just this once.

“Jeonghan, they say there is no greater pain than disappearing and being forgotten.” 

Wonwoo tried to force a smile, but it ultimately crumbled under the weight of the sadness that suddenly lingered between them. 

“And no matter what happens after this conversation ends...there could never be another friendship like the one I have with you. How on earth could anyone ever forget that?” 

It was then that Jeonghan realized that Joshua wasn’t his only family. Wonwoo had been with him, had been watching over him, for nearly two hundred years. He was the only other person besides Joshua that cared for him unconditionally. 

_ There is no greater pain than disappearing and being forgotten.  _

The words Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to say were masked well, but it was a truth that buried itself deep in his empty and frozen heart. 

_ There is no greater pain than being abandoned. _


	4. regret // joshua & jeonghan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to preface that this is a slightly nonlinear chapter. It starts in Joshua's perspective and switches to Jeonghan's (where the details pick up from the end of the third chapter). 
> 
> I'm not really satisfied with how this chapter turned out, but I hope those of you who are reading are willing to forgive its structure and lacking content. lol. with that in mind, happy reading!

_ regret // joshua & jeonghan _

Wonwoo was late.  _ Very  _ late. 

It was nearly thirty minutes past seven o’clock when he’d finally wandered into the department. Not that Joshua was necessarily concerned, but something about the air in the office seemed to shift as Wonwoo grew nearer. He figured that the younger was having a bad day, and thus in a horrid mood, judging by the look on his face, but Joshua reminded himself that whatever it may have been it wasn’t any of his business. 

“I thought we agreed on six?” 

Wonwoo grabbed a chair from nearby and set his things down at the other end of Joshua’s desk. “If my memory serves me correctly, I don’t remember agreeing to meet at six. The line went dead before I could even answer.”

Joshua shot him a warning look before turning back to the file he’d been sifting through.

The younger sighed, “In all seriousness, I apologize for being late. There was an unexpected situation that needed my attention, it took a lot longer than I initially expected.” 

The sincerity in Wonwoo’s voice somehow made Joshua feel guilty for being an asshole. He wasn’t going to ask who he’d been with, or what he had seen, but whatever it was, there was no denying the worry that was etched into his features. 

“Whatever it is, let’s just try to focus,” Joshua offered. “Maybe working will take your mind off of it.” 

Wonwoo mumbled something under his breath that Joshua couldn’t make out, and despite his growing curiosity, chose to ignore it anyways. 

“Where is everyone else?” Wonwoo asked, surveying the nearly empty office.

“Mingyu took the rest of our team out to do some ground work,” Joshua replied. “I  _ was  _ hoping to have some extra information for him about an hour ago...but I’ll let it slide for now considering the circumstance.” 

The other detective forced a sheepish smile. It seemed like the only other apology that he could offer were the documents he’d prepared. 

“Here.” Wonwoo extended his arm, openly offering the documents to his temporary partner. “This is a summary for…” his words trailed as he eyed the mountainous stack of case files that engulfed Joshua’s desk and choked on a dry laugh, “well...all of  _ that.” _

“Where was this when I needed it this morning?”

Folding his arms across his chest, Wonwoo rolled his eyes, “A simple thank you would be sufficient.” 

Joshua snatches the papers from his grasp, briefly skimming through them.

“If you haven’t already guessed from the content provided to you, our search hasn’t led to any successful capture of a suspect.” Wonwoo briefed. “Since there have been various reports, various cases, there are a slew of eyewitnesses, half of which are saying one thing, while the other half can’t seem to get their story straight. That isn’t necessarily surprising, considering the reward that’s being offered for any substantial information regarding a suspect or any of the cases. But I’m afraid that if it continues on like this, then our trail is going to go cold, unless another incident occurs before then.”

“There are currently  _ seven _ open investigations concerning serial robbery,” Joshua scratched at his temple. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance that the perpetrator is one and the same, but we can’t rule out the possibility that they’re all independent from one another.”

“What about an accomplice?”

Joshua hummed skeptically. “That seems even less likely, don’t you think? When an accomplice is involved, the margin for error tends to grow exponentially with each incident. And yet, it’s been nearly two months since these string of robberies have begun and we still haven’t named a possible suspect. So, the chances of it being a one man show seems more plausible. Less baggage. More room for individual safety.”

Wonwoo nodded, acknowledging the rough theory. “I think the only thing we can do at this point is to localize the issue. The suspect has clear and specific targets that appear to live in high end areas of the city. One of the few things I could recommend is combining the force of our teams to create small rotational units for stakeouts, as well as evidence and statement collection.” 

“I—” Joshua was about to agree with the latter’s plan, but the overbearingly familiar tone of his cell phone ringer exploded between them. Not only had its unexpected timing scare Joshua, but caused Wonwoo to jump as well. 

He ripped the phone from his pocket and nearly let it fumble to the floor when he recognized Mingyu’s caller ID. 

“Please tell me something good,” Joshua pleaded tiredly as he answered the phone. 

It was quiet for what seemed like a second too long before Mingyu spoke. “I wish I had more time to explain, but I’m going to send you our coordinates. We are responding to an unrelated incident not too far from the station across town. Since you are the lead investigator, we need you to come down to supervise the situation.”

“That’s my jurisdiction,” Wonwoo commented, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll be there as well.” 

“Stay there. Do us both a favor and do whatever you can to keep the scene from being contaminated. We’re on our way.”

—

At first there wasn’t much to see when Joshua and Wonwoo arrived on scene. 

Based solely on appearances, the apartment complex that they’d been led to appeared, quite frankly, unstable. The likelihood of the building collapsing on top of them by merely pushing a door open was infinitely plausible. 

“You go in first,” Joshua urged, nudging Wonwoo forward by the shoulder ever so slightly. 

Wonwoo scoffed lightheartedly, “Don’t be a coward.” He slipped his hand underneath Joshua's armpit, dragging him forward like a mother would their child if they’d been acting mischievous. “Let’s go. This case isn’t going to solve itself.”

It didn’t take long to locate the epicenter of commotion. They were all of five feet through the entrance when the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the hall. The detectives followed the sound long enough until Minghao came flying through a door that was mere feet in front of them. 

“Minghao!” Joshua exclaimed at the same time as Seokmin, one of the many investigators on Wonwoo’s team that Joshua was able to recognize, who was rushing through the threshold of the door. 

Joshua knelt down next to the younger, quickly inspecting him for any sort of visible injury, “Oh my god, Hao, are you okay?” 

“Just wait until I get my hands on those motherfuckers—”

_ “Whoa,  _ okay,” Wonwoo interjected before the latter could continue. “What’s going on in there?”

Seokmin ran a hand through his already unkempt hair, trying his best to catch his own breath. “Long story short, we heard a commotion coming from the building as we were on our way to meet a witness. Little did we know we’d be going up against rival gangs under bosses.”

“You do realize we aren’t first responders?” Wonwoo scolded. “You should have reported this and left it to them,  _ especially _ if you were on your way to meet a witness in our case.”

_ Fuck _ . 

Joshua wasn’t sure if he’d said it out loud or not, but his hand hovered over the holster at his hip as he stood, timidly pushed his way into the room that Minghao had come flying out of. 

The space was a lot bigger than he initially imagined. It was roughly the same size as a basketball court, but it appeared much smaller in relation to the number of bodies that were packed inside. It hadn’t been difficult to distinguish between his and Wonwoo’s men, and the gang members Seokmin had briefly mentioned. It was even more obvious as to who the underbosses were. Naturally, they were the very people who had been left out of all the physical fighting. Instead, overseeing everything, all while arguing with one another. 

The urge to roll his eyes was overwhelming, and he would have done it reflexively if it hadn’t been for the dead weight of Mingyu’s body crashing into him. 

“Nice of you to show up bossman.” 

Despite practically being thrown across the room, somehow, Mingyu had been able to maintain his snarky attitude. 

“Get off of me,” Joshua’s voice was strained as he attempted to recover the breath that had been knocked out of his lungs from the impact. 

Mingyu casually rolled off of him, dragging him up by the collar of his shirt. They gave each other a quick once over to make sure they were still in one piece before everything went to shit. 

Everything happened so fast.  _ Too fast.  _

Before Joshua could even get a word out, a younger man was charging straight for Mingyu from behind, a butterfly knife in hand. 

With all of the strength he had in his body, Joshua practically threw Mingyu off to the side, just in time for Joshua to pull the gun from his holster. The gun’s presence was enough for the charging attacker to skid to a halt, swinging his hands up into a defensive position. 

_ “Joshua!!”  _

Wonwoo’s voice pierced the room at the very moment a sharp pain was met in his side. His head pivoted over his left shoulder to find another young man there with the bloodied knife that was used to rip into the flesh at his side. 

Joshua wanted to curse, he wanted to scream with all the pent up frustration that had been building gradually since that morning. He would have never predicted that this was how today was going to end. 

The young man who’d stabbed him couldn’t have been much older than twenty or so. There was no denying that he looked as frightened as Joshua felt. He’d never once felt afraid for himself, death didn’t scare him one bit, but it was the safety for those around him that concerned him the most. He was responsible for a whole team of men who had families and friends who were surely waiting for them at home, loved ones that some surely provided for. It was his job to make sure they left work and returned home to those people safely. Granted, it was rare that they would be involved in situations as dangerous as this, but any time they found themselves unnecessarily tied up, Joshua felt like his chest could explode with the anxiety that lingered there. 

Anything could happen, and if anything were to happen to these men it would fall directly on his shoulders, and his shoulders alone. It was a burden he’d willingly agreed to carry for the remainder of his life when he accepted the job as lead detective. Now each of those burdening decisions flashed before him in the face of life and death. 

Joshua was vaguely aware of his dulling senses as he unlocked the safety on his handgun and altered its course. In between the time Joshua had been stabbed and the brief moments that he’d taken to gather his thoughts, Mingyu had crossed paths with another opponent. One of equal size and strength, or so it seemed. Joshua did his best to split his attention between his partner and the kid that stood between them. 

“You’re a little young to be mixed up in all of this,” Joshua’s voice  _ felt  _ heavy, but his body felt even heavier as the blood began to soak through his clothes onto the floor. 

The young man eyed the gun like a hawk, shrugging as if none of this were a big deal, “It runs in the family I suppose.” 

“And becoming a doctor runs in mine, but here I am.” Joshua steadied his trembling arms to the best of his ability, his muscles tightening against the throbbing pain that slowly crept up his body. 

“There’s no escaping this, you know?” The younger whispered smuggly. Joshua was unsure whether the younger was referring to his supposed family business, or his looming fate which suddenly seemed unclear. 

It was in those mere seconds when he’d been distracted by the ambiguous remark that the younger reached for the barrel of the gun.

And only a heartbeat later, a loud roaring echo ricocheted off of the walls. A loud thud tearing through the silence it had summoned. 

—

It hadn’t been too late in the evening when Jeonghan and Wonwoo decided to go their separate ways, which undoubtedly meant there was bound to be cases to attend to by the time he got home. 

And there were.  _ Three  _ of them to be exact. 

The black envelope that bore Joshua’s name felt like a heavy scalding weight on his phantom heart—and his coat pocket. And since the date inscribed on the card was still several days out, he decided it was probably best to leave it behind while he attended to his one-time clients for the evening. 

Even though he was a well seasoned veteran in this line of work, he was still consumed by a daunting sense of dread each time he was asked to put on his uniform. Perhaps uniform was overstating things a bit, but it was required nonetheless. What appeared to be nothing more than a gentleman’s best evening wear, actually turned out to be the most important factor in concealing their identities. 

While engaging in common everyday life, grim reapers could be seen by humans with the naked eye; appearing as real and tangible as any other person. The suit that was provided to them upon the end of their apprentice period acted as a high power camoflauge, making them practically invisible to any living thing. However, even after a couple of centuries, he still hadn’t really figured out the whole psychic-medium exception. 

Whether they were concealed or not, the job itself was burdening. Emotionally and spiritually (since grim reapers  _ technically _ weren’t physically human). Depending on the level of a soul’s aggression, a task may take hours, days even, and although grim reapers are advised to remain neutral in all aspects, Jeonghan couldn’t help but feel empathy for their own personal loss. Because at one point, he had been in their place, had struggled against that grave reality.

The familiar tone of his phone from across the room jolted him back into reality. He was surprised to see Joshua’s name reflecting back at him. 

Joshua never called him while he was working, mostly because they weren’t supposed to take personal phone calls while on duty. 

Putting his phone on speaker, Jeonghan placed the phone down in front of him to finish changing, “Hello?”

“Hey, what are you up to?”

Jeonghan nearly missed the opening to his sleeve when he heard the loving and longing tone of Joshua’s voice. 

“I’m just getting ready for work,” he stated plainly. “What’s going on? You never call while on shift.” 

He could practically imagine the way Joshua shook his head on the other side of the city, “I’m just waiting for someone, they’re a bit late, and my team is out of the office right now, so I thought I’d give you a call. I just needed to hear your voice.” 

This could only mean that Joshua was having a stressful day, and once more, there was nothing Jeonghan could do to remedy that pent up anxiety he was surely feeling. 

“I’m sorry, Shua,” Jeonghan shrugged on his blazer. “I hope that whoever you’re meeting with will show up soon. What time do you think you’ll be home?”

“It’s hard to say,” Joshua sighed. “What about you? You’re working with Wonwoo tonight, I’m assuming. Do you think you’ll be home before me?”

Jeonghan hummed a tune of consideration. The number of cases for one evening was certainly a full load, but it seemed manageable all the same. “I don’t know if I’ll be seeing Wonwoo tonight or not, I guess it just depends. As far as I’m aware I’m on my own tonight, and since that’s the case I’m not sure what time I’ll be home just yet.” 

“You’ll text me though, right?” Joshua asked hopefully. “When you’re on your way home?” 

“Of course,” he reassured. “I always do.” 

A sigh of relief rippled from Joshua’s end, “Okay, great. I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you tonight.” 

“Be safe. I love you.”

“I always am. Love you.” 

—

Jeonghan had made quick work of the first case he’d been assigned. Peaceful deaths were always the easiest, considering that most souls already come to terms with their fate, which made them that much more pleasant to guide into the afterlife. They were nostalgic and reminiscent beings, thus comfortable to be around. 

He pulled the second card from his breast pocket and took some time to familiarize himself with the details inscribed there. Anyone who ever worked alongside Jeonghan knew that he was incredibly clumsy when it came to directions. He would need as much time as he could get to figure out how to get to the next collection sight, or else he would just spiral into an endless well of nerves. 

The card, however, was nameless. 

This was rare, but it still happened from time to time. After all of this time, both Jeonghan and Wonwoo have only witnessed such an occurrence once or twice. From what they’d gathered, together they theorized that nameless cards only emerged whenever one person's death may be suddenly interchangeable with another’s. 

Frankly, it went against everything that had been drilled into them during their training period. If a person’s fate was predetermined, how was it then possible for their death to be suddenly revoked and reassigned? 

Wonwoo had spent  _ decades  _ contemplating what kind of forces could possibly be stronger than that of fate, enough so that it could alter another person’s fate in turn. Unfortunately, a plausible answer had never surfaced despite his efforts. 

According to the movies and books, love was  _ always _ the resolution to all of humanity’s issues. It was supposed to be the most powerful force in the world—in the human world to be more specific. Rather, it was something to believe in, to  _ cling  _ to, when it seemed that everything was falling to pieces, but no amount of love would ever be able to overcome death. 

—

When he first arrived, Jeonghan recognized Wonwoo’s stark black hair before anybody else. There was no denying that his thin and slender frame was the easiest to pick out of a crowd, but even if he hadn’t seen him, he would have felt his presence nearby. Not just because they were best friends, but because there was certainly a connection there. 

Other than Joshua, Wonwoo was really the only family he had, someone that Jeonghan could endlessly rely on. There wasn’t anything Wonwoo didn’t know about his life, including everything that happened up until his abrupt passing. Old flings, his parents, early childhood, his interests and dislikes; he could recite it all as if it were his own history. The effort put into their relationship has never been one sided. Early on they promised to take care of one another for as long as they possibly could, and even though it was hard in the beginning, they persevered through any obstacle that threatened to compromise their bond.

However, there were a lot of unspoken expectations, and neither of them were willing to relinquish their fragile pride to speak out on a variety of things. Especially when they were forced to search through their unstable emotions and put them on display for each other to see.

But nothing was more earth shattering than finding both of his loved ones in the same room amidst a dangerous situation.

Jeonghan should have known that this would happen one day, that he would have to pick up a case that would involve being near Joshua in a form that the younger would never be able to understand or accept. 

_ Why here? Why  _ now? 

Jeonghan looked to the limp body that lay heavy in Joshua's arms, clutched closely to his chest. It was the first time, and may have been the only time, Jeonghan felt such a strong urge to cry along with Joshua, and if he was physically capable of crying he would. 

Joshua was as open and honest as a human being could get. He’d never been good at masking his feelings, his thoughts and emotions practically on display for everyone to see at all times. Of all the souls Jeonghan ever had the pleasure (and displeasure) of meeting, he firmly believed that Joshua’s was the gentlest. And although their views on many issues were vastly different, the person that Joshua was born to be seemed beautiful. 

But here, and now, with his work partner wrapped tightly in his arms, Jeonghan could see the way Joshua’s exterior facade threatened to crumble under the weight of the person that had always been hiding beneath that projected persona. The beauty that once clouded every fiber of his being completely shrouded in an onslaught of darkness. 

“Jeonghan…” 

A deep voice filled his ears from behind. He turned slowly until his eyes landed on the twin of the very person who Joshua grieved for. 

“Mingyu,” he swallowed his surprise, suddenly nervous that he was finally facing someone who knew him as one person, and was now meeting him as another. 

They started at one another for a long moment. Studying. Processing. Neither one of them drew a single breath until they’d both taken the time to fully grasp the weight of each other’s presence. 

Jeonghan hesitantly pulled the name card from his pocket, staring at it, several phantom heartbeats filled with conflict before reciting the content aloud, “Kim Mingyu. Aged twenty six. Cause of death—fatal impact as a result of a deadly weapon. Approximate risk of malicious development, low to moderate.” 

“I—I can’t believe it,” Mingyu whispered. “Who would have thought…I thought grim reapers were nothing more than a myth. And yet, you stand before me…” His eyes drifted, lingering just beyond Jeonghan for several long seconds before the realization settled, “In front of Joshua.” 

“They can’t see us.” Even though there’s nothing accusatory about Mingyu’s rambling, Jeonghan felt the need to clarify all the same. “Except for Wonwoo.” 

“Wonwoo? How can—” 

Jeonghan watched as the epiphany spread across Mingyu’s face. It was enough to hint at the fact that Mingyu would forgo the explanation he thought he needed. 

“Does Joshua know?” 

The ache in the pit of his stomach was painful. There was no denying the overwhelming guilt that had been building gradually for the last six years. Despite all the rules, all of the precautions that Wonwoo and the administration had taken to ensure complete secrecy, there were many instances where Jeonghan nearly sacrificed it all to reveal the person Joshua thought he was in love with. In many of those moments the truth outweighed any consequence he might face for the exposure of their world to a human being. He wanted to face that truth with the person he loves most, even if it meant that he would cease to exist; erased from the memory of each person he’d grown to love and care for. Yet, in the end, he chose selfishness. Regardless of which path he would have taken, the end result would have been very much the same—he was selfish for keeping the truth hidden and he would have been selfish for exposing it. 

“He won’t know until it’s his time.” 

Mingyu nodded solemnly, “Well I guess I can rest easy knowing that the best possible person is looking out for him.” 

“I would like to think so,” Jeonghan chuckled. “But I can’t help but feel I might actually be the worst person.” 

“That man would tear through the universe for you,” Mingyu took a step closer, taking in the forgotten commotion around them. “If anything ever happened to you, I know he might very well die of a broken heart... but it seems that he’s got nothing to worry about. It’s my guess that even if he knew, he would probably work himself even harder.” 

“I’ve come to the same conclusion myself a couple of times.” Jeonghan signed the death notice, marking the beginning of a new path. Mingyu’s new path. “You’ve been a wonderful friend to him after all of these years, and even though he won’t ever admit it, I don’t think he’ll ever forget you and all of the wonderful memories you gifted him.” 

Mingyu sighed contentedly, eyeing Jeonghan with a look that was sewn together with hundreds of questions he’d never get the chance to ask. When his features relaxed into something like bliss, he smiled, “I’m glad it was you. I’m glad that the last face I get to see is a familiar one.” 

“I can promise you this...I certainly won’t be the last.” 

There was a brief silence as Mingyu’s soul began to fade into his fate. 

It was meant to be a peaceful moment, but all of that crumbled when he recognized Joshua hunched over in a generous pool of burgundy red. There was too much blood, too much to be Mingyu’s alone, and there was nothing he could do but watch as Wonwoo frantically ripped his jacket from his shoulders, pressing it into the wound that Jeonghan hadn’t even noticed when he first arrived. The scene unfolded in slow motion, cruelly and painfully; he felt like a guilty bystander waiting for someone else to speak up, to reach out for any sort of help. For there was absolutely no way he could possibly do anything without exposing a whole world that was infinitely complex and protected by its own politics. 

It was a scenario much like this one that Jeonghan wanted to curse the rules, damned them to the very hell he was partially bound to. Joshua was his family, the only person who loved him for who he truly was. Not because he was extraordinary…

To Joshua, Jeonghan was merely Jeonghan. Joshua had given up a lifetime's worth of opportunities so that they could be with one another more often than not. Their love wasn’t just give and take, push and pull; it was built on the sacrifices, difficult decisions that had been made willingly. To them, love was a compromise. A fragile entity that could withstand the immense pressure of humanity, but would crumble instantly beneath the uncertainty and unpredictability of immortality. 

Many times over Jeonghan silently hoped that his immortality would be revoked, which would allow them to live out the rest of this life together, but there would be no escaping the rapid aging that would surely swallow him whole the moment his humanity would be restored. 

It was thanks to his immortality that whatever was left of his humanity remained partially intact. His human form was mostly retained. Even though he didn’t have a working heart, nor could he experience emotions in the same manner that he once had, he'd done his best to mimic the memory of those feelings that were deeply embedded in his ageless soul. 

“Jeonghan.” 

He was seconds from crashing against the carpeted concrete when Wonwoo caught him by the arm. 

“Hannie…” Wonwoo croaked, voice raw, probably from barking orders to his and Joshua’s men to call for help. “Joshua, he—”

“Wonwoo…” his voice was steady, calm, but he could feel the rising eruption gather at the center of his chest. “Do you think if I was just a normal human being, one that experienced a normal human death all of those years ago, that this situation could have been avoided?” 

His best friend blinked rapidly, as if trying to understand and process the reality of some alternative world, “Jeonghan, you need to pull yourself together, now is not the time for you to ponder what could have been. Joshua’s on his way to the hospital. They’ll surely ask a guardian to be there, and since I’m a witness I’ll need to make a statement to the police when they arrive.”

Jeonghan’s mind was racing in each and every direction. He thought about Mingyu, his nameless notice, and perhaps it was then that Jeonghan finally understood the underlying nature of spontaneously assigned deaths. 

There had been so many people in this room, the death and it’s details could have belonged to any one of those people involved. Unfortunately, in this case, it happened to be Mingyu. Since the nature of the situation was greatly ambiguous, the death notice couldn’t be assigned to a singular person. It could have been assigned to anyone, only for a sudden change in destiny’s plans to alter the course of that person's fate for another. 

Whether the death was assigned to someone in specific or not, the time card was bound to collect, was obligated to. It would adhere to the details until the very end, and in some twisted way, fate would single out another person to take its intended victim’s place.


End file.
